A doctor with a fairy-like face was in Merv,

In the garden of the heart, his figure was like a cypress tree.

He knew not of the pain in the hearts of those he treated,

Nor of the eyes of the sick who looked for his aid.

A stranger in pain tells his tale,

How he was content with the doctor's care for a while.

I did not seek my health,

For I did not want my doctor to come to me again.

Many strong-willed intellects are bewildered,

For the passion of love makes them subordinate.

When love's madness touches the ear of reason,

It can no longer raise its head in wisdom’s season.